Thursday Night
by serenelystrange
Summary: Eliot visits a strip club... Parker shows up. Started out as crackfic by request.. then somehow became a legitimate little E/P  possibly OT3 if you squint  fic. Hope you like! Reviews are love, :D


A/N – This started out as crack that a friend requested. Ended up being a legitimate little E/P fic. Go figure, lol.

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"She's not very good."

Eliot snaps to attention, glaring as Parker settles in the seat beside him.

"What the hell?" he asks, wondering how and why she followed him to a strip club, of all places.

Parker regards the girl on stage again before answering.

"She's not very good," she repeats, eyeing the leggy brunette with disinterest, "She's too sloppy. No control. She'd never be able to run in those heels."

"She doesn't need to run, Parker," Eliot growls, before turning his attention back to the girl, grinning when she tosses her bra to the side with an exaggerated flourish.

The girl, Candi, if Eliot remembers correctly, slinks to her knees and begins to crawl toward the edge of the stage, looking directly at him.

"This is stupid," Parker sighs, "I'm bored."

Eliot ignores her long enough to slip some money into the crawling girl's thong, before turning back to Parker in aggravation.

"Then go home. Why are you here anyway?"

Onstage, the girl pouts, clearly annoyed at losing Eliot's attention. She slinks over to another, girl-less, customer, casting Parker one last disdainful look.

"Dammit, Parker!" Eliot exclaims, "I was enjoying myself!"

Parker stares at him for a moment, doing that 'very creepy, possibly seeing straight into his soul' thing he hates so much.

"Why don't you just get a hooker?"

"What the fuck, Parker?"

"Well," Parker says, shrugging, "Clearly you're looking for sex. Why don't you just get a hooker?"

"It ain't about sex!" Eliot protests.

Parker just stares at him.

"Ok, it's a little bit about sex," he admits, "But mostly not. And I don't need a goddamn hooker!"

"Then why are you here?" Parker asks, blinking at him with feigned innocence.

Eliot sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose and slumping further into his seat.

"I'm here to see naked women. It's called a strip club for a reason."

"Oh," Parker says, apparently satisfied with the answer.

"That one is nice," she says suddenly, nudging Eliot to look at a limber blonde on the far side of the stage.

Eliot watches the girl spin expertly around the pole, holding on with just the hook of one knee. Streaks of blue run through her hair, matching the incredibly tall heels she's balanced on with ease.

"Not bad at all," Eliot whistles, enjoying the view.

"You should give her money," Parker says, poking him in the arm.

Eliot shushes her. "I'm watching."

"Eliot," Parker says with all seriousness, "Strippers have bills, too. Go give her some money."

"You give her some goddamn money," Eliot replies, swatting at her poking finger.

"Fine!" Parker says, getting up in a huff and stalking towards the dancer.

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It takes Eliot a full thirty seconds to realize what's wrong with this situation. One, Parker doesn't like to give out money, ever. Two, Parker most definitely doesn't like to give out her _own_ money. It goes against everything that makes her _Parker._

And then he notices his wallet is gone.

"Dammit, Parker!" he curses again, walking swiftly to Parker, who has his wallet open as an offering to the dancer.

To her credit, she's looking at Parker with the patented 'something wrong with you' expression. It doesn't stop her from grabbing the offered cash though, making Eliot grit his teeth when he sees her pull out the near a thousand dollars he had in there.

"You were supposed to give her your own money!" he yells to Parker, snatching his wallet back with indignation.

The girl on the stage holds the money tight and runs off the stage, grabbing her measly outfit as she goes.

"Why would I do that?" Parker asks, looking genuinely confused.

"You… I…. dammit, Parker!" Eliot says again, sighing.

Parker squints at him, "You keep saying that."

"You keep making me," Eliot counters, still glaring.

Parker just shrugs and turns her attention toward the bar.

"Wanna get some chicken wings?"

One of these days, he swears his eyes won't come back from where he's rolled them to the back of his head.

"No, Parker, I don't want to get chicken wings. I want to go home, and drink until I forget I even tried to have some fun tonight."

"Oh," Parker says, sadly, looking at him with those shiny hazel eyes.

Eliot feels his anger fading and his resolve crumbling.

"Dammit," he says again, but it's nothing more than a whisper.

"Yay!" Parker says, bounding to the bar.

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A while later, Eliot is pleasantly tipsy and the wings are gone. Parker's nursing her second drink, but seems completely unaffected by the alcohol. Eliot makes a note to question her about that another time.

"Are those real?" Parker asks their, albeit very buxom, bartender.

So maybe she's not as sober as Eliot thought. Or maybe she's just being Parker. He never can be sure.

The woman just laughs and leans forward so Parker can get a better look.

"They were real expensive, tell you what," she says, drawling pleasantly in a way that reminds Eliot of home.

He looks up at her and smiles, but she pays him no mind.

"You can feel them if you want,' she addresses Parker, pulling her shirt down even lower.

"Ok!" Parker says, and she reaches out without hesitation, squeezing the other woman's breasts experimentally.

Eliot swallows thickly, not entirely unpleased with this turn of events.

"They feel… heavy," Parker says, moving her hands as if weighing the breasts in them. "And soft. Really soft."

Eliot knows the display shouldn't be as arousing as it is, but he never claimed to be a particularly sane man.

"I think your boyfriend wants in," the bartender laughs, giving him a pointed stare.

Parker pulls her hands away and shrugs.

"He's not my boyfriend."

Eliot smirks and looks back to the bartender, giving her his best 'how about it?' expression.

"Sorry, buddy," she says, "I'm not into dicks."

Parker frowns and jumps to Eliot's defense.

"He's only a dick sometimes! And usually just to Nate. But he deserves it."

Eliot's torn between laughing and banging his head on the bar, repeatedly.

The bartender laughs again and regards Parker with a fond look before looking back to Eliot.

"She's adorable."

"She's not interested," Eliot says, noting the predatory gleam in the woman's eyes.

"She's right here!" Parker protests, "And can speak for herself. Myself. Whatever."

"See?" the bartender grins, "She can speak for herself."

Eliot sighs, and turns to Parker.

"Do you want to fuck this lady?"

Parker's eyes go wide and she shakes her head rapidly.

"See?" Eliot smirks at the woman, standing up and pulling Parker with him.

He probably should have seen the punch coming, but it takes him by surprise, landing squarely on his cheek.

He doesn't even have time to react before Parker is leaping over the bar and giving the bartender a sure to be matching shiner.

In the next second, she's next to him again, grabbing his hand as she runs for the door. A surprise burst of laughter escapes and he runs with her.

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"What the fuck?" he says when they're finally in the safety of Eliot's car, heading home.

Parker just shrugs, giving him a small grin, "I know you wouldn't hit a girl. Unless she tried to kill you. And even then, you might end up having kinky museum basement sex with her."

"That was one time!" Eliot says, but he's laughing, "And it wasn't that kinky."

Parker just rolls her eyes.

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"I missed you," she says, suddenly, staring pointedly out the window.

Eliot is, understandably, taken for a loop.

"What?"

Parker sighs sadly and continues, though she still doesn't look at him.

"It's Thursday night. You cook for us and then Hardison makes us watch some stupid movie about aliens or cyborgs or whatever. And tonight, you came to a strip club, instead."

"Parker," Eliot says, focusing on the road as best he can while his head is spinning.

"Just go out a different night, ok?" she says, quietly, "It's not the same without you there."

There's a million things that he could say, that he wants to say, but every single one of them seems inadequate at the moment. Anything he says or does could ruin everything and more.

Eliot settles for reaching out and linking his fingers through Parker's, squeezing her hand quickly, before grabbing the shift again.

"Ok."

He swears the streetlights dim at the brightness of Parker's answering smile.

THE END


End file.
